Monday, January 23, 2012


Things I’ll Miss The Most

There’s nothing quite like lying in bed on
a rainy morning making a
mental list like the one I’m about to
compile.  The sound of rain falling on the

roof is a good place to start since 
they're in no particular order.  I’m no
surgeon, after all, silently reviewing
the steps required to replace a

failing joint or sputtering organ.  
Your pies are on there, too, along with
your smile, the one meant only for
me.  Let’s not forget the sound of your

voice and the undeniable fact
that you smell like flowers in a soft,
warm rain.  The kids at age six, let’s say,
though I could make a compelling case

for two or sixteen or the days on which
they were born.  Maybe I will round it
out with spring, jazz, blank canvas, long bike
rides, the Sunday Times and the singular

sound of a word that leads, somehow,
to another poem.  But suppose heaven
is just a good restaurant, nothing fancy,
a neighborhood café with a decent

wine list and sidewalk tables.  Who knows?
The omnipotent waiter, friendly
though a bit indifferent, reads the specials
from a curled yellow index card not

unlike the mental one on which
I’ve made my list.  I order one of
everything and two glasses of good
Malbec.  You look lovely on this warm

spring evening as you smile and take
my hand across the table.  The air
is fragrant with flowers and, from
somewhere nearby, I can hear After

the Rain played softly.  The waiter
is back with our wine. I make a mental
note to leave Him a good tip at
the end of our eternal night out. 

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